Long Arson Poems
Long Arson Poems. Below are the most popular long Arson by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arson poems by poem length and keyword.
they slipped with the lobotomy
red-hot poker in the eye
electrocution grilled her mind
bonfire of insanity
a straight jacket squeezed the last drop of lucidity
but she would not see the light of the day
leeches drank happily in search of blood
swollen and fed up they spilled their prey on her skin
her sugar addiction succumbed to insulin coma
almost ate up the last crumb of resolve
the final straw came when they exorcised her
and satanic verses stirred devilish crosses
to the tune of hymns psalms and insurrection
of flesh body soul and lost Self
she borrowed a lighter and burnt a candle
immolated demons and ghosts of the past
saw luminescence and freedom
set arson to hellish oppression
burnt down the asylum
and decided to be her own crazy warden
25th March 2021
A Meaningful Poem Contest
Sponsor Constance La France
A person is dogmatic when they are expressing opinions very strongly or positively as if they were facts. This "rebellion” is very dramatic, and theatrics are not my strong suit. There are White men holding signs that read “Black Lives Matter” during so-called “protests” to boot. If there is merchandise being produced where is the revenue being sent? Has all the money been spent? Where are the headquarters and who is the corporate executive officer? Who is the treasurer? It is my life that I treasure. To burn down a police station is an idiotic measure to ask for peace between your ghetto and the police. Should one be spared even if they attempt to murder a police officer? Kill or be killed is a law on the streets, but that to some is obsolete when the situation involves the police. What is the phone number? They were thrown a bone. I do not lose sleep. I slumber. Can you give me an exact statistical number of black lives that were lost due to the police policing the streets of American Society with lethal force? My sense of propriety will not allow me to be on the fence regarding this issue. Between 1980 and 2023 , approximately 30,000 Black men were shot and murdered by the police. I have heard such gibberish such as “defund” the police. Taking their money will not make them work harder to defend themselves against threatening suspects I suspect. The families of some of the deceased have been given settlements, so I heard through the media. They were cut a check. The police were told that the government should cut their checks. Dogmatic Individuals have many problems in understanding new ideas. They cannot accept reasonable ideas instead of their own incorrect ideas. If there is a corporate executive officer found I doubt that this person will have anything to say that is profound. There will be no statue erected in his image. There will be no one to say “I stand corrected”. There will be no direct and reasonable ideas exchanged between vandals, looters, protesters, and those who commit intentional arson, and the officers of the law. I saw a police station on fire in another state; this was being aired on the news. I never heard if anyone was apprehended. Maybe no one left any clues.
Emmitt Till buried next to my father
also unearthed next to my father
bur oaks cemetery Chicago Illinois
I never dreamed my death would be sought
For my American poetry severe corruption
ABUSE of power set my death
In the swamps to extort my American poetry
by Jamaican imposter's and a corrupt officers
niece my attacker my stalker severe repeat
violent offender seated with an arson murderer
Klansman craving my death finally murder me
and toss remains In with the alligators
Hillsborough river I must say I'm at peace
with this death because I will never ever stop
writing and allow a fatal attraction gain royalties
from my American poetry therefore I want
the world to know in thee event of my death
please check all the alligators in the swamp behind
my home for my remains and please allow open casket
as with Emmitt Till so the world can see how
I was murdered in America for my American poetry
DISABLED VETERANS BEWARE BE
CAUTIOUS DATA BREACHES HACKING
INTO DISABLED VETERANS AND THEIR
FAMILY INCLUDING BURIAL INFORMATION
MY FAMILY WAS HACKED HOME BROKEN
INTO JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY
MY STALKER TAKING MEDICATIONS
ATTEMPTING TO IMPERSONATE ME
WHILE CIRO GARGANO IMPERSONATES
MY DISABLED SPOUSE ATTEMPTING
TO EXTORT MEDICAL TREATMENT FOR
ORGANIZED CRIME MEMBERS SEATED
WITH CIRO GARGANO ARSON MURDER
OF 9 TERRORIST THREATS USING DISABLED
VETERANS TO TREAT HITMEN KILLERS
RETIRED MAFIA MEMBERS TRULY SAD
BEING A DISABLED FAMILY WE ARE IN
SHAMBLES BUT WE HAVE GOD OUR
SUPPORT GROUPS VETERANS HELPING
VETERANS AND THEIR FAMILIES MY PRAYERS
ARE WITH ANY VETERAN SUFFERING AS
WE EMBRACE HEART ATTACKS THE STRESS OF
KNOWING SOMEONE HAS HACKED INTO
YOUR HEALTHCARE IN AMERICA JUST STOP
SENDING BLACKMAIL THREATS EXTORTION
THREATS BULLYING INTIMIDATION VICTIMAZATION
OF DISABLED VETERANS AND THEIR FAMILIES
GOD BLESS AMERICA STAY SAFE
STOP THREATENING MY LIFE INTERFERING
WITH MEDICAL TREATMENT FUNDING RETIRED
KILLERS SENDING BLACKMAIL THREATS EXTORTION
THREATS BULLYING INTIMIDATION VICTIMIZATION
OF DISABLED VETERANS AND THEIR FAMILIES
USA
An affectatious arsonist announced,
“Big buildings’ burning brilliance brightens best!”
casually cites conflagration counts,
darkly deals destruction, designer-dressed.
Extinguishing each edifice enflamed,
first-rate forensic findings frequent failed.
Grievous, grim goings, ‘geniously gamed;
Hurried happenings, hastily high-tailed.
Incendiary incidents ignite
jewel-filled junkets, jazzed jalopy jaunts.
Kindling’s kittling kiss: knave’s known kryptonite,
Lapping, leaping licks, luscious, lit lavants.
Madness! Marauding mercilessly more,
Nefarious, nursing next novel noir.
—————
kittle - birth, excitement
lavant - old English, stream
Visit beautiful Michigan Avenue
The ‘Magnificent Mile’
See the teenage gangs at night
roaming ‘gangster-style’
Admire block after block on ‘the strip’
Madison Avenue, the Old West Side
burnt down by arson way back in 1968
embers still afloat – Don’t they smell great
Take a walk on the Wild Side
The South Side that once hosted Nat King Cole
Note the empty lots, broken glass and one-eyed cats
What a pleasure to take in all that…
Yes, dear friends, a trip to Chicago’s just the thing
Come to a town where crime is king
On the cusp of the night, forged by the steel of his will
Poised on the edge of forever, eternally still
Patient as time, as the yesteryears mark where he's been
Different from man, for the harrowing sights that he's seen
He once lived a life, full of promise and dreams as he grew
In a world where believing made everything real become true
Where a dance with the Devil destroyed everything in a night
And darkness prevailed, stripping all but a glimpse of the light
No man shall bow down to the filth that roam freely today
No woman nor child shall taste of the fear or dismay
The lost and the lonely a champion has chosen to serve
The weak and the weary shall have all the hope they deserve
The battle ensues every night, arson, murder and rape
As justice is dealt from behind the dark crusaders cape
Steeled by the resolve that injustice shall not be the way
No conscience, no remorse, no soft executioners stay
That which lies written in stone is etched there in blood
The conscience once felt as a child, washed away in a flood
Only truth paves a path to the future, let that be his tome
At the centre of hurt and corruption he's fashioned a home
A soul torn and lost evermore, in the blink of an eye
Bewildering fate taught a grieving young boy not to cry
Did destiny cause it to be - Or was it just that
The catalyst needed to transform a man into bat
Tortured by loss and regret through a cruel twist of fate
Carved a body and mind, that was tempered by vengeance and hate
Scales of injustice now measure the weight of our sins
In the instant that Bruce Wayne dies... then... BATMAN BEGINS
Like cinders rolled down the mountain spire
And all in our wake set afire
So hot were we like arson fire
So young were we to so aspire
To wield the world with a hearty grip
To twirl our girls with hand on hip
And dance till the night gave us its last
And the dawn awoke like the dead full aghast
Oh, those days we were of sparking thrill
Of the nectar of life we could not drink our fill
Nor sit idly by while the day strummed its song
With subconscious mind, we pranced and sung along
Midst our summer eves we sat neath the trees
Our lady’s head upon our shoulder our hearts asmoulder
And glimmers of a light, from deep soulful sight
We lay our love to rest in red velvet and starlight
For when we wake those hands we'd take
And proffer vain oaths purpose bound to break
For in our youth we knew not truth
Just the thrill of sweet pursuit! Forsooth!
Our nights aplenty with common fruit
And grapes hung low to tease the lusty brute
Oh, such were the days of frolic and frays
We look back on our hosts with silent praise
And thankful old souls that sought lasting goals
True, true love, bridled we gallant foals
And tamed that power in years seeming hours
Picket fences, brick and mortar, lawn and bowers
And oh, the children that seem run for hours
Seeming born with an energy that rival ours
No ball and chain neither, but a winsome maid
Cast down like angels lightly to the glade
Have managed to glean us happy lives
And quench our flames, our happy wives
Happy husbands we’d never knew
From flames of far off yesterday’s view
Take no shock as we quiver in such trembling
As blood hunting critters, applaud our woeful quivering
By fiendish fireworks and guns souls bleed
All for a dotty tenet; an eerie greed
To gratify such unwholesome belief
Hence, stir souls dispatch; re-occurring grief.
When honey becomes unsavory and peace sees her demise
When bereft of hope, that no sermon sufficed
In berated fierce, we charged our chief lord
upon their terror obliterating our hopes,with its ravaging flood.
Bewildering! Their schemes, somewhat startling
From northerly point, our walls are falling
With tears and death breaking brittle bones
Upon the spear of torture, we depart our homes
By their nefarious ambition, our faith abates
As rainbow wanes, abattoirs grew in rates
Nowhere on earth is safe, not even this cave
Their onslaughts drenched our being, so to early tomb our dreams we gave.
They invade our land in hellish rage
With countless ruins, blood curdling carnage
So upon the rumbling rise of these evil hermits
The inferno of gruesome war we shall inhabit
If our chief security compromises our safety upon death threat
Then all out, we shall fight even with chocked breath
To the chief lord, anticipate the imminent fall of Niger wall
The bridge built by ancient sweat will crush by internal brawl
We shan’t in feeble courage watch our brothers’ burn like grass
Nor shall we crave another dirge upon uncouth arson that claimed a mass.
Tell them and their Godfathers ’’in-quote’’
When we invade their land; to ashes we shall swerve their worth
If their fierce is dreary, then our fierce is fierce
their soulless souls shall our ravenous swords pierce
let them retreat, and relinquish these gory riots
Else we assail their land with our chariots
Then Niger shall know the words of war
These daemons shall we damage, with their pious hearts and furs
But to curb this imminent war, shall he rise
To nail their souls on the path of demise
Then by their own hands shall they shed their blood
Restless! Their wailing spirit shall have no abode
Else we by their blood bind them,
tonight shall be the last for our nations anthem.
Where Frozen Embers Still Burn
Frozen, in a darkened moments cold,
preserving, youth denied its growing old,
flames that severed psyches cord
arson at the hands of those who “serve the lord”.
Living in an ice block embered hate
all that might have been numbly laid waste
locked both in and outside of the gate
homeless amid the “keepers of the faith”.
Deafened by the pealing of the bells
sentencing a child to lifeless hells,
carrying the weight of sinner’s sin
because they told him it belonged to him.
Embers, that were tended, fueled with rage
warming, ever slowly, livings flame
refusing to be locked in clerics cage
torching the lie “I was to blame”.
8/14/2014
For Gail Angel Doyle contest
Where Frozen Embers Still Burn